[Act 5, Scene 1]
Enter two Clownes.
Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that
wilfully seeks her owne saluation?
I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Graue
straight. the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Chri
How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in
her owne defence
Why 'tis found so.
It must be
Se offindendo, it cannot bee else: for
heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it ar
gues an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is an
Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe
Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer.
Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:
heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this wa
ter and drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes;
marke you that? But if the water come to him & drowne
him; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not
guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life.
But is this law?
I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law.
Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not
beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried
out of Christian Buriall.
Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty tha
great folke should haue countenance in this world to
drowne or hang themselves, more then their euen Christi
an. Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,
but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue‑makers; they hold vp
Was he a Gentleman?
He was the first that euer bore Armes.
Why he had none.
What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou vnder
stand the Scripture? the Scripture sayes
could hee digge without Armes
? Ile put another que
stion to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, con
fesse thy selfe⸺
What is he that builds stronger then either the
Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter
The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a
I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes
does well; but how does it well? it does well to those
that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is
built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes
may doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come.
Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Ship
wright, or a Carpenter?
I, tell me that, and vnyoake.
Marry, now I can tell.
Masse, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.
Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your
dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when
you are ask't this question next, say a Graue‑maker: the
Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee
In youth when I did loue, did loue,
me thought it was very sweete:
To contract O the time for a my behoue,
Taughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.
O me thought there was nothing meete.
Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that
he sings at Graue‑making?
Custome hath made it in him a property of ea
Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath
the daintier sense.
But Age with his stealing steps
hath caught me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me intill the Land,
as if I had neuer beene such.
That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing
once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if it
Caines Iaw‑bone, that did the first murther: It
might be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Of
fices: one that could circumuent God, might it not?
It might, my Lord.
Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Mor
row sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this
might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such
a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not?
I, my Lord.
Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes,
Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons
Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to
fee't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but
to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke
A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade.
for and a shrowding‐Sheete:
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete.
There's another: why might not that bee the
Scull of of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his
Quillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why
doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about
the Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of
his Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's
time a great buyer of Land, with his statutes, his Recog
nizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:
Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Reco
ueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will his
Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and dou
ble ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of
Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will
hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe
haue no more? ha?
Not a iot more, my Lord.
Is not Parchment made of Sheep‑skinnes?
I my Lord, and of Calue‑skinnes too.
They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assu
rance in that. I will speake to this fellow; whose Graue's
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete.
I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't.
You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours:
for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine.
Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine:
'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou
'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me
What man dost thou digge it for
For no man Sir.
What woman then?
For none neither.
Who is to be buried in't?
One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule,
How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake
by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the
Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it,
the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant
comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his
Kibe. How long hast thou been a Graue‑maker?
Of all the dayes i'th yeare, I came too't that day
that our last King
How long is that since?
Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that:
It was the very day, that young
Hamlet was borne, hee
that was mad, and sent into England.
I marry, why was he sent into England?
Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his
wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.
'Twill not beseene in him, there the men are
as mad as he.
How came he mad?
Very strangely they say.
Faith e'ene with loosing his wits.
Vpon what ground?
Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene
heere, man and Boy thirty yeares.
How long will a man lie'ith'earth ere he rot?
Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue
many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold
the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine
yeare. A Tanner will last you nine year e.
Why he, more then another?
Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that
he will keepe out water a great while. And your water,
is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull
now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years.
Whose was it
A whorson mad Fellowes it was;
Whose doe you think it was?
Nay, I know not.
A pestlence on him for a mad Rogue, a
Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull
Sir, this same Scull sir, was
Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester.
Let me see. Alas poore
Yorick, I knew him
a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he
hath borne me on his backe a thousand times.
And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere
hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.
VVhere be your Iibes now? Your Gambals
Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to
set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own
Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies
Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this
fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: pry
Horatio tell me one thing.
What's that my Lord?
Dost thou thinke
Alexander lookt o'this fa
And smelt so? Puh.
E'ene so, my Lord.
To what base vses we may returne
Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of
, till he find it stopping a bunghole.
'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so.
No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether
with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.
Alexander was buried:
turneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make
Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuer
ted) might they not stopp a Beere‑barrell?
Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away.
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw.
But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King.
Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a Coffin,
with Lords attendant.
The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow,
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken,
The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand,
Fore do it owne life; 'twas fome Estate.
Couch we a while, and mark.
What Cerimony else?
Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke.
What Cerimony else?
Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd.
As we haue warrantis, her death was doubtfull,
And but that great Command, o're‑swaies the order,
She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd,
Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier,
Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, I should be throwne on her:
Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites,
Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of Bell and Buriall.
Must there no more be done?
No more be done:
We should prophane the seruice of the dead,
To sing sage
Requiem, and such rest to her
As to peace‑parted Soules.
Lay her i'th'earth,
And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh,
May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest)
A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be,
When thou liest howling
What, the faire
Sweets, to the sweet farewell.
I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my
I thought thy Bride‑bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid)
And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue.
Oh terrible woer,
Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head
Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence
Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while,
Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:
Leaps in the graue.
Now pile your dust, vpon the quick, and dead,
Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made,
To o're top old
Pelion, or the skyish head
What is he, whose griefes
Beares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow
Coniure the wandrinig Starres, and makes them stand
Like wonder‑wounded hearers? This is I,
Hamlet the Dane.
The deuill take thy soule.
Thou prai'st not well,
I prythee take thy fingers from my throat;
Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash,
Yet haue I fomething in me dangerous,
Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand.
Pluck them asunder.
Good my Lord be quiet.
Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme,
Vntill my eielids will no longer wag.
Oh my Sonne, what Theame?
Ophelia; fortie thousand Brothers
Could not (with all there quanitie of Loue)
Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her?
Oh he is mad Laertes,
For loue of God forbeare him.
Come show me what thou'lt doe.
Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe?
Woo't drinke vp
Esile, eate a Crocodile?
Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine;
To outface me with leaping in her Graue
Be buried quicke with her, and so will I.
And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw
Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground
Sindging his pate against the burning Zone,
Ossa like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth,
Ile rant as well as thou.
This is meere Madnesse;
And thus awhile the fit will worke on him:
Anon as patient as the female Doue,
When that her golden Cuplet are disclos'd;
His silence will sit drooping.
Heare you Sir:
What is the reason that you vse me thus?
you euer; but it is no matter:
Hercules himselfe doe what he may,
The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.
I pray you good
Horatio wait vpon him,
Strengthen you patience in our last nights speech,
Wee'l put the matter to the present push:
Gertrude set some watch ouer your Sonne,
This Graue shall haue a liuing Monument:
An houre of quiet shortly shall we see;
Till then, in patience our proceeding be.